No Lines Crossed
by jlangblues
Summary: How exactly did Dwight's desk end up in the bathroom during The Fight?  Why Jim comes up with all these ideas and how Pam feels about them.  Slight JimPam, not too AUish.  S2.


Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with The Office. Sadly.

Rating: T

Title: No Lines Crossed

A/N: I've never written anything for The Office before, so I'm kind of nervous, but we'll see how it goes. Hopefully well. This is set right before The Fight. I haven't seen all of the episodes, so if something's way off... well, just think of the story as AU. (Reviews would be love!)

* * *

Sometimes he thinks that the pranks are what holds them together. Not in a creepy way. But just. You know, they've been friends for a while and sometimes he doesn't think that they'd be as close (if that's even the word to define what they are) if they didn't pull all this shit. And he knows that soon they're not really going to be able to do anything the same anymore, and he wishes that wasn't true because he wants things to stay the same. Because even if it's painful and awful and sickness-inducing to have to watch Roy with her, it's not crossing any sort of line. And if - when - she gets married, he knows the pranks are going to end. Because for some reason, he just thinks that those pranks are crossing that line. 

But if he's being honest with himself, he knows that he would cross that line in a second, no matter what he says outwardly. In the back of his mind, the place that should be reserved for thoughts along the line of "God, why the fuck am I wasting my life", or "Dwight can't be _all_ that bad", the only thought that is there, always, constantly, like the beat of a drum, is that he wants her. So badly, so honestly that it hurts sometimes, twists him inside out just by looking at her.

Anyway. She would never cross that line with him.

So it's best just to keep those thoughts back where they belong.

-

"So, I've been thinking," he begins casually, tapping his hands against her desk absent-mindedly. She smiles, raising her eyebrows.

"About anything in particular?" The question's asked innocently, when she knows very well that the answer will be anything but. He shrugs, appearing to mull the question over in his mind. Leaning over her desk slightly, he whispers into her ear,

"Yep. I think Dwight's desk needs to be rearranged. Moved. Go on... vacation."

"Vacation?" she asks lightly. "Like Puerto Rico?"

"Yeah, you know. The energy in this office here is all- wrong, and I just think if maybe we move his desk a little, it'll lighten things up and might air the place out a bit," he says, stumbling over his words, "and I was thinking maybe we should put the desk right about..." he trails off, looking around the office. Peering intensely around the room, he swings his head around, trying to find the perfect location. "There," he points. He nods. "Yeah. There is perfect."

"There?" she asks incredulously. She tries to think of a way to break the news to him gently. "Jim, I think that's kind of impossible."

"Pam," he starts, mock disappointed, "have I taught you absolutely nothing about the word impossible?"

"That I really don't think it's possible to eliminate it from the dictionary?" she responds, laughing. He shakes his head, slicing his hand through the air- end of discussion. Besides, if she keeps laughing that loudly, someone's going to know that they're planning something. And their pranks always work better when it's just the two of them working on them. Or at least, that's what he likes to say.

"No," he says, exasperated, "it's that." He stops abruptly. "Okay, so I've never _really _taught you anything about the word impossible," ("I could've told you that"), "but we need to do this. This prank is too good to just forget about. Come on, Pam. You want this."

"Oh, really?" she asks, pretending to sound confused.

"Really."

After a minute, she breaks, and a smile plays out across her face. "Okay. You know I'd say yes, you dork."

"Yeah, but even I get nervous sometimes," he says, his face telling an opposite story. She sighs dramatically.

"Tell me what you want me to do, and hurry up, because I was informed that my maturity level is going to rise dramatically in, oh, the next five minutes." She looks at her watch. "You have four minutes and fifty seconds. Hurry up, Halpert, times a tickin'."

"Okay, okay," he says, grinning. "Just tell me where the phone jack is in the break room. And help me move his desk. And I was thinking that we could do this tonight, and then have him walk into it tomorrow? Well, figuratively, you know, not like literally into the desk."

"Yeah, I know what you meant," she says, rolling her eyes. "Okay. Lets do it."

"Maturity level still hasn't risen?" he asks, making sure. "I don't want you to go against any new moral standards or anything." She turns her chair towards her computer, going back to work.

"Goodbye, Halpert," she says, smiling to herself.

"See you tonight, Beesly." She hears him take a handful of jelly beans and amble back to his desk, as she tries to think of an excuse to give Roy for why she's going to be coming home late for the third night in a row.

-

Sometimes she wonders where he comes up with these ideas. Do they just appear like a lightbulb effect, or does something just come over him and he knows exactly what to do? Maybe. As she helps him push the desk towards the bathroom at seven o'clock that night ("Come on, Beesly, you have got to have more upper body strength than that"), she wonders if he just has a supply of these pranks in the back of his mind. Just floating around, waiting to be used on an ever-unsuspecting Dwight.

She doesn't think this prank will work. She doesn't want to tell him that, though, because she knows that once he gets in an idea in his head, it's not going away any time soon. Besides, she doesn't know how to break this news to him. He looks so excited and she just doesn't want to be the one who takes that look off from his face.

"This is really heavy," she sputters, gripping the edge of the desk more tightly. He sighs melodramatically.

"Maybe I should've asked Ryan to help. Michael _is _always talking about his muscles."

"Please," she laughs, "Angela is probably stronger than Ryan, and she weighs like, eighty pounds." They push the desk in silence for a few more moments, Dwight's bobble head precariously close to the edge. She starts to think about what they're actually doing - God, they're putting his desk in the fucking bathroom - and she can't help but start to laugh again.

"This is so ridiculous," she giggles. "I mean, seriously, we're putting his desk in the _bathroom_, Jim." He looks at her and starts to laugh as well.

"Yeah. I guess this one is pretty crazy." She stops pushing the desk for a minute, looking over at him. His shirt sleeves are pushed up higher than usual on his arms, his tie's pulled loose and his white undershirt is peeking through his rumpled dress shirt. He looks so comfortable. And for some really weird reason, she almost wants to cry, kind of. Not because she's sad but because he's happy and that just makes her so, so happy.

But she knows that this moment- it won't last.

So she tells Jim that she needs to go to the bathroom quick, and she goes and closes the stall door behind her, locking the door. Sitting on top of the toilet, she cries a little. Not a lot, because he can usually tell when she's been crying. But enough to get it out of her system.

Because at the end of the night, he won't be happy and she'll be sad and they won't be in any place other than where they were before.

-

"Warmer... warmer... oh, hot, red hot!" Jim calls out the next day, holding the telephone up to his ear as Dwight storms into the men's bathroom. Looking over at Pam, he smiles slightly as Dwight answers the phone from the bathroom. She smiles back. Prank accomplished. Just like it always is.

No lines crossed.


End file.
